Spotlight on 5 Valuable Things my MRI Actually Revealed

I slid into a tube, on my knees, draped over a barrel. With my head tucked in, arms stretched ahead Super Girl style, my hooters hung out like socks on a clothesline. Headphones in place, I closed my eyes & tried to melt into the techno beat of an MRI machine. 

Just before this high tech breast exam started, the technician suggested I not breathe too deeply, because that would move the chesticles & the whole ordeal would take longer.  

Maybe the breathing note was the last straw, or maybe the whole scene was written and no amount of improv on my part could have changed the plot. With every whoop-whoop of the machine, I felt the panic rising. 

I tried to go to my happy place. I tried not to breathe deeply and yet still meditate. When that failed I tried to sing show tunes, tell myself jokes, sing 99 bottles of beer... 

Then I heard the technician say, "You're doing great, ma'am. Only 17 more minutes. How are you doing?" 

Yeah... That's when I lost my shite. 

In the few minutes that followed, while the techs talked me down from the ledge and back into the machine, I learned 5 very valuable things:  

• It does help to focus on the big picture. I was not there for myself; I was there for my family. Truly, if I were a single woman I think I'd have said fuck it and left. But with my family history of breast cancer, having this screening is important as both a parent and a wife. So I needed find a way back in that tube. 

• I can handle any of my fears if I can look them in the eye. (When I can't, I lose my shite.) I've long known I'm a bit of a control freak. But as the techs were asking me what they could do to get me to go on with the test, I realized this was more than just giving up control. I was freaked out because I couldn't use my sight to focus outside of my position. TRYING to look around was my problem. In this situation, I had to close my eyes and rely on my other senses. 

• When I can't see, I need to feel my way. I don't necessarily mean with my heart. I mean literally. When the tech took my hands & told me I could handle this; even blind and barely able to breathe, I believed her. To her credit, that wonderful lady stood outside the MRI tube, while I held on for dear life. There is great power and healing in the human touch. 

• When I really can't handle my situation, the bravest thing I can do is speak up & ask for help. I am the strong one, the one who endures and tries very hard not to complain. Yet as a mom, I tell my kids when they feel like they can't be brave, they can lean on me & together we can face anything. The reason, I say, is asking for help shows more bravery than anything else. In the middle of my panic attack, I was reminded mommy is also stronger when she lets herself be vulnerable & accepts that she cannot tackle everything on her own. 

• Oh, and the final thing I learned during my breast MRI? Mammograms are NOT the most uncomfortable thing I have ever done with my boobs. Actually, this whole experience was seriously awkward. Physically & emotionally. Of course, the most valuable lessons are often uncomfortable to learn. 

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Anxiety Rising - What's with Today, today?

Today is a mixed bag of strange & change. 

I'm sitting in a coffee shop trying to keep myself in check. 

"I will not cry in public." That is my mantra. 

My Boy started Pre-K today. 

We've been preparing. The last 2 days we've walked down to the school. Each day my Boy saying "that's my new school! Can we go in? I want to go to school!"  Played in the park beside it. 

The Boy was so excited & hugged his sister goodbye. Posed for photos at home & as we walked to the school. He got into the classroom & went right to playing. He wasn't concerned when Hubs had to leave. There wasn't a hint of uncertainty about him when he said bye to me a few minutes later.  

I had to stop & fill in some information in the hall & before I could finish he came running out crying. Looking for me. He kept repeating "You can't leave me. I'm just scared."

I was brave. I did my best to calm him. We sang the first verse of "Sing (sing a song)" together. His little voice so quiet, quivering in a way I've never heard. I reminded him this was our song & if he felt unsure he could sing to himself & it would make it better. 

That's all I had. 

Thankfully it's a half day. 

Now if I could just stop myself from shaking. 

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Now it's later in the afternoon, the Boy made it through the morning. I left him with his sister & the sitter. 

I'm taking a Bikram yoga class. Once again there is drama from new yogis. They end up storming out of the room during the floor series, stepping over my mat because I'm near the door. One of their mats double smacks me in the face. 

Alright then. Focus. Get back into the meditation. 

Several times during class I'm choking back tears. There is so much emotion tying my muscles and joints into stiff knots. 

I fell asleep after class while in my final resting pose (mama needed rest). I was awakened by a blast of cold air as a woman burst back into the room and said "Joan Rivers is dead! You just know Melissa is going to be devastated."

Um, yes. I am ffamiliar with that emotion. Thank you for ripping me back to reality with news of death & mourning. I totally feel refreshed now. 

----

Cut to the dentist's office. 

A fairly routine procedure to remove a temporary crown and install the new ones is made difficult by the temporary adhesive not wanting to come off. 

It is a well documented fact that I loathe the dentist. I struggle to remain calm during a cleaning. My teeth are sensitive, and I've had so many bad experiences with crappy dentists. 

I'm trying though, I'm trying to stay even keeled. I can tell the dentist is trying to be gentle, but she finally decides she will need to numb the area. But I'm just too jacked up now. The adrenaline is pumping, my heart is racing, and even the feeling of the Novocaine being injected into the gum is freaking me out. 

And then the full blown panic attack I've been trying to avoid all day has me. I suppress the scream, but I squeal enough that the dentist and her assistant pull back as I sit straight up in the chair. Trying to regain control of my breathing. Hoping I won't go into a full flop sweat. I keep apologizing, but I'm not sure why. I have no control over this. 

It is taking everything I have not to just leave. I can live without teeth. Or maybe you just pull out what's left of this tooth that is hurting so badly? Because the screaming from the tooth is ringing my jaw bone like a bell in my ears. 

The Novocaine is starting to work. The pain in my jaw is beginning to fuzz out. My breath is returning to normal. 

Finally I'm able to relax enough to let her finish. Somewhere in there the numbing effect reaches it's peak, and I make a joke about it. 

----

Back home and I'm still uneasy. It's all been too much today. I can't find words to express it properly on my page on Facebook. But I see this ripple from so many of my friends. So much angst. So many people talking about headaches, migraines, taking a break from people. Amy texts me from Alaska. Her fiancé is having a health crisis. It's all too much. 

What's with Today? All I can think is there is a disturbance in the Force. 

And all I can do is hope and pray that tomorrow will be a brand new day. A brighter day.